For the Love of Toasted Dustcrepes
by Taraum
Summary: Most people say it's hard to embarrass a Jedi. Not necessarily so, Scourge learns, if you catch them at the right time...


_A/N: This does contain my JK Daesha Ven, but it's AU since I'm gonna take Motivations in a completely different direction once I reach the Makeb plotline. This was written after watching a ST: Voyager marathon, also, so kudos to anyone who figures out the scene this one is based on. Rated T for language and general suggestiveness. :)_

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><p>"You sure you don't want to come with me? Being on the ship by yourself can get kind of boring," Kira prompted, turning to face Daesha Van before she prepared to descend the boarding ramp. The faintest sound of speeder traffic echoed in the landing bay, and the smell of exhaust and ozone wafted in from the street. Nar Shaddaa itself might be considered beautiful, if you enjoyed cityscapes and garish lights. Normally, Daesha would have jumped at the chance for a night out with Kira. The Council had given them a week's vacation after the Makeb incident, and she was eager to put that whole debacle out of her mind. Why exactly she had let Doc talk her into going to a Hutt-controlled planet after all the corruption she had witnessed in the last few weeks still eluded her. However, judging by the fact that he'd basically jumped out of the ship before it landed, she was guessing that philosophy wasn't foremost in his mind at the moment. He had dragged Rusk off to some cantina called the Burping Bantha, and Daesha suspected she'd be lucky if she saw them again before noon tomorrow. "Tython to Daesha," Kira laughed, waving a hand in front of her face. "You sure you don't want to come?"<p>

"Sorry, I was just thinking about Doc. I hope he'll keep the drinking to a minimum tonight," Daesha admitted. "The last thing I need is having to explain to the Council why I'm posting bail for my ship's medic…again." Kira snorted.

"Rusk will keep an eye on him. After what happened last time, that goes without saying." Daesha cracked a small grin. Doc didn't remember being thrown out of Club Nova, but he'd received a lecture from a very grumpy Rusk the next morning on exactly how much alcohol he could or could not handle.

"I have the utmost faith in Rusk's abilities," Daesha smiled. "I'll be happy to accompany you tomorrow, but for tonight, I just want to curl up with a datapad and relax. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course," Kira shrugged. "We'll have plenty of time together. Besides, it's been a while since I had a chance to stir up some trouble. Can't do that with you around." Daesha shook her head.

"Try to have fun. I'll see you later," she admonished. Kira winked and descended the boarding ramp. Daesha watched until she was out of sight before closing the ship's doors and heading back towards the ship's common area. Scourge was still aboard, but he rarely bothered her unless to spar. To be alone on the ship was a rare thing these days, and she relished the opportunity. Daesha steeped a cup of jasmine tea and curled up on one of the couches. She called her datapad over with the Force and covered up with a blanket. Crossing her legs at the ankles, she powered on the device and allowed herself to be swept away in the romantic holonovel that had become her latest guilty pleasure. Her eyes danced upon seeing the words, and she smiled to herself. There was a reason no one else knew her password.

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><p>Scourge slung a towel over his bare shoulder and headed back towards the crew quarters of the <em>Shield<em>. He closed the doors to the salle and rolled his shoulders back until something popped. A satisfied sigh escaped him, and he made no effort to hurry his pace. Normally, he would have to fight Kimble for access to the refresher, but he couldn't sense the medic's presence on board. In fact, upon reaching out further with the Force, he realized that he couldn't feel anyone's presence. Well, anyone except Daesha's. He had felt their entry into Nar Shaddaa's atmosphere, yet he was surprised that the crew had left so quickly.

Oh well, it was hardly a loss. While they were out drinking away their intelligence, he had been improving his strength and combat skills. Since the Jedi had performed their ritual to remove the Emperor's curse, he no longer had the benefit or curse of immortality. He'd been spending much more time in the salles since, making sure that his skills stayed razor sharp. His stomach growled, and Scourge frowned. With the return of his senses, he had been reintroduced to the varied world of taste. He'd quickly discovered that he preferred nerf meat and Carsen's steamed adragio above all else. The day after his ritual, he'd been so hungry that he'd wiped out a third of the Shield's food reserves. Daesha had stumbled across him at three that morning, ripping huge chunks out of a reheated nuna. A look of pity had crossed her face, and she'd proceeded to make them both some toasted, slightly burned, dustcrepes. His mouth watered at the thought. Perhaps she could be persuaded to make more.

He followed her presence in the Force, stopping in surprise when he reached the main hold. The lights had been dimmed to their lowest setting, and the only other source of light was the small datapad that Daesha held. She was sitting on one of the couches facing away from him, an empty teacup sitting next to her. Scourge cleared his throat, hoping to gain her attention. Nothing. He lumbered into the room, stopping about five feet from her. Silence. "Ven," he muttered. Still she ignored him. Scourge scowled. He had been working out for three hours, and, by the Force, he was hungry. She had been the one to insist trying the Jedi's ritual, thus bringing him back to this state. So she could put up with the consequences. He closed the distance between them and squeezed her shoulder. "Daesha," he said, putting some edge into his words. Her reaction was not what he expected. She jumped and screamed, the datapad flying out of her hands. Her empty tea cup clattered to the floor, landing on his bare foot before rolling away. Her hand flew to her chest, and she gulped in a breath. "Computer, lights on maximum," Scourge said before she had a chance to curse at him. The lights flooded the area, and Daesha winced at the sudden change.

Scourge studied her appearance in surprise. He hadn't seen her since earlier that morning, when they had still been in hyperspace. She'd been dressed in Jedi robes then, her hair up in its customary bun. But somewhere in the course of the day, she'd changed into her casuals. They were a pair he'd never seen before, with a neckline low enough to be suggestive, had he not known her so well. She'd also let her hair down, and the portion of it closest to her face had been twisted into a single braid. Her pupils had finally readjusted to the light, but they were still slightly dilated. Her face was flushed, and her lips were slightly swollen, as if she'd been biting them. "What?" she asked, breath hitching as if she'd been holding it for some time. Her aura was quickly beginning to radiate irritation, but Scourge could also feel the slightest hints of embarrassment and excitement. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he glanced towards her datapad.

"What are you reading?" he asked. Daesha's eyes widened slightly, and she called the datapad back to her with the Force. Scourge intercepted it, and it flew into his hand. Daesha gripped the device, ensuing in a brief (futile) tug-of-war with him before he ripped it up out of her reach. He turned his gaze upward, intent on seeing what had her so flustered. "_Kyenon gazed through the rain at the Arya, his dark hair plastered to his face. Her emerald eyes promised suffering and death. The crimson hue of her lightsaber painted her face in a garish light, but all Kyenon remembered was the expression in them from three nights prior. Her face had radiated such vulnerability, such trust, in the pale Alderaanian moonlight. He remembered the feel of her mind, the exquisite pleasure as he had filled her…_" Scourge trailed off. "Jedi, is this a romance novel?" he asked. When he glanced down at her, Daesha's face rivaled his own skin tone. She opened her mouth several times to speak, finally swallowing thickly and refusing to answer. That alone was all the answer he needed.

"Just give it back," she whispered, holding out her hand. Scourge shook his head and stepped a pace away, scrolling down the text. His eye ridges raised in surprise at some of the content. His little Jedi certainly had interesting taste. He gazed at her curiously. Many nights, she would retire early. He had always assumed that it was for meditation or studying some of the mission dosciers the Council gave her. She was an insomniac like him, and often stayed up well into the night. Often, he would pass by her door and feel nothing. She had taken his lessons in shielding her presence to heart quickly. But often, he would wake slightly in the early morning, so faintly that he couldn't tell if he was dreaming or waking, to the slightest flares of pleasure. He'd never been able to tell who it came from. He'd always assumed it was Kimble, but now, he was not so sure.

"So, the famous Hero of Tython does have a secret," he chuckled, handing the datapad back to her. She snatched it back and closed it, still refusing to look at him. "I don't understand why you are so embarrassed. A woman of your age, without a constant mate, is bound to have certain needs. Even your Jedi Code does not forbid physical relations, only emotional attachments. A little escapist reading never hurt anyone."

"Just. Go. Away." she ground out, rising from the couch and collecting her blanket. She called the teacup to her and made a show of dusting imaginary lint off her top. Scourge's mouth went dry at just how that pulled the cloth against her body. The shirt was tighter than he realized. Perhaps he did not know her so well after all. Daesha finally gazed up at him, and his own breathing hitched at the way she appeared. Her face was flushed, pupils dilated, and mouth partially parted. "I will be in my quarters. Comm me if there is an emergency." She started to move past him, but Scourge caught hold of her upper arm.

"What will you be doing, Jedi?" he murmured. Her eyes narrowed.

"That is none of your concern. I won't just sit here while you mock me," she griped. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

"I don't need you, per se. I want you," he said.

"You _want_ me?" Daesha repeated. "What do you want me for?" A large part of Scourge's brain was tempted to tell her that he wanted her so he could show her just what a pale reflection that stupid novel was of true passion. Part of him wanted to show her that he could do so much better than Kyenon or whatever imaginary Jedi she was lusting over. But he knew what her reaction to that would be.

"I was intending you to make toasted dustcrepes," he answered. Daesha's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Irritation surged off of her in waves.

"You interrupted me all because you wanted me to make you some toast?" she asked in disbelief. "Are you kriffing serious?"

"It is a matter of life and death," he replied with mock seriousness.

"Then have a good death, Scourge," she winked. "It's a shame to see you brought so low by a pastry, but stranger things have happened." She moved to turn away again, but he held her fast. Scourge leaned down into her ear.

"If you do this for me, I promise I will make it worth your while," he whispered suggestively. Daesha turned to face him, her dark eyes wide with alarm. At this level, their noses almost brushed. Her lips were only a few inches away. All he would have to do was lean forward, and he could capture her mouth. "Please, Jedi," he requested. Her gaze rested on his lips, and she leaned up slightly, almost as if transfixed. Their lips almost grazed just as the holocomm started beeping loudly. Daesha gasped and pulled away.

"Take…take that for me," she instructed, hand resting over her heart again. With that, she scurried back to her quarters. Scourge's gaze followed her until she disappeared from the room before he slammed his hand down on the holoterminal.

"This is Lord Scourge of the Jedi Defender _Shield_," he snarled down as the transmission came into focus. A very irritated representation of Rusk materialized, with a drunken Doc leaning heavily on him for support.

"Command, we're gonna need an evac from the Hutt's penitentiary…again."


End file.
